Since son’s death, Callaway woman looking for ways to cope

By Chris Olwell / The News Herald

Published: Sunday, May 5, 2013 at 08:52 PM.

“I was even planning on moving to Jacksonville because I knew he was going to make it that far,” Wilhite said.

It was a Saturday, four days after the attack, that Wilhite finally got an appetite and went to get a meal. It was while she was out that Tyler’s condition deteriorated. Wilhite had to make a decision she didn’t think she could make; she made him a DNR — do not resuscitate.

“It was just — I’m not going to say pointless, because if he could’ve lived it would’ve been awesome — but it was just too much,” she said. “There would’ve been no quality of life. There would’ve been nothing.”

Tyler died the next afternoon, April 7, just before 1 p.m. It was Hanna’s birthday. In the future, they’ll celebrate on a different day.

Wilhite talks easily about his injuries, and how he hung on, and how she ultimately made the decision to take him off life support five days later. She can talk about these things in a straight-forward, matter-of-fact way that probably leads people to believe she’s not upset.

“If I don’t squall and cry, it’s not because I’m heartless,” she said. “I’ve not went through the grieving process yet. I don’t know why.”

She keeps busy with Tyler’s sisters, Hanna and Brook. They go to the zoo; they go bowling; they go to the mall. Hanna was sick last week and ended up in the hospital.

CALLAWAY — There is a lot Brandy Wilhite doesn’t know about what happened April 2, but she does know the grass grows a deeper shade of green in the spot where dogs tore the life from her 7-year-old son.

Everywhere she turns, Wilhite is reminded of her son. She looks at his sister, Hanna, and sees his eyes looking back at her. With the same speech patterns and rambunctiousness, Hanna is Tyler Jett made over, Wilhite said.

Soon, she’ll be returning to work for the first time since Fatboy and M.J., two bulldogs that belonged to the neighbors across the street, got loose, tore the skin from Tyler’s scalp and ruptured his carotid artery.

“I don’t want to leave the kids, but I’m going to give it a shot,” Wilhite said. “The hardest part is me getting dressed [in scrubs] because that’s what I was doing when Tyler was found.”

She thinks Tyler was riding his bike that day, but she didn’t sound certain. She knows Tyler had just gotten off the school bus. She knows he had come inside and told Wilhite he loved her; then, like any other day, he went outside to play.

It was maybe two minutes later; she’s not certain. She knows she was getting dressed for work when she heard the screaming. Her first thought was he’d been hit by a car.

She dressed and ran outside to find her son covered in blood on the lawn. His stepmom, Katy Phillips, was already with him, trying to stop the bleeding. Wilhite looked into her son’s bright, blue eyes. They seemed so calm.

Wilhite is a certified nursing assistant (CNA) — she has been since she was 18 — and Tyler was small and sneaking candy bars from his grandma. She was 16 when he was born, and he made her grow up, she said. As a CNA, she knew what it meant when the paramedics started doing CPR in the yard.

The doctors at Bay Medical Center Sacred Heart Health Care Systems were able to repair the injury to Tyler’s carotid artery, Wilhite said, but the injuries to his scalp continued to bleed. Wilhite tried to find out how many stitches and staples the docs used to try to close the head wounds; there were too many to count.

The blood loss caused brain damage, but when he went to Sacred Heart Children’s Hospital in Pensacola, he showed signs of recovery. Tyler responded to pain, and he could breathe some. He was posturing, a symptom common in those with traumatic brain injuries, but that meant he was alive. They were optimistic enough to plan for his release and recovery.

“I was even planning on moving to Jacksonville because I knew he was going to make it that far,” Wilhite said.

It was a Saturday, four days after the attack, that Wilhite finally got an appetite and went to get a meal. It was while she was out that Tyler’s condition deteriorated. Wilhite had to make a decision she didn’t think she could make; she made him a DNR — do not resuscitate.

“It was just — I’m not going to say pointless, because if he could’ve lived it would’ve been awesome — but it was just too much,” she said. “There would’ve been no quality of life. There would’ve been nothing.”

Tyler died the next afternoon, April 7, just before 1 p.m. It was Hanna’s birthday. In the future, they’ll celebrate on a different day.

Wilhite talks easily about his injuries, and how he hung on, and how she ultimately made the decision to take him off life support five days later. She can talk about these things in a straight-forward, matter-of-fact way that probably leads people to believe she’s not upset.

“If I don’t squall and cry, it’s not because I’m heartless,” she said. “I’ve not went through the grieving process yet. I don’t know why.”

She keeps busy with Tyler’s sisters, Hanna and Brook. They go to the zoo; they go bowling; they go to the mall. Hanna was sick last week and ended up in the hospital.

When she’s busy, she doesn’t have time to dwell on her loss. But, things inevitably slow down, and Wilhite cries when she’s alone at night. She talks to Tyler and knows he hears her.

“You know he’s up there calling you a cry baby,” Phillips told her.

Tyler was buried in a John Cena hat surrounded by photos with a cellphone that Wilhite uses to send him text messages.

* * *

Wilhite, at 23, has regrets. She wishes she had saved the voicemail of Tyler singing “Happy Birthday” to her. She wishes she had worked less and spent more time with him. She wishes she had better understood what an achievement it was when Tyler was named Cougar of the Month at school, and she wishes she had celebrated accordingly with him. She wishes she could have seen him wearing the suit he was buried in while he was alive. He looked so handsome in it.

“It sucks,” she said, “because there’s a lot of things I want to do with him now, but I can’t.”

Her husband was too distraught to talk for this story; Wilhite did the interview while he was at work. The pictures of Tyler lining the walls would be taken down before he got home to spare him from the memories of their loss. He’s Tyler’s step-father, but “blood couldn’t make ‘em no closer,” Wilhite said.

All of Tyler’s things are put up in Wilhite’s bedroom, so she’s been sleeping on the couch. Their home is full of memories of Tyler so they don’t want to move, but this is also where he was killed, so the memories aren’t always happy. After Tyler got hurt, the family had planned to get rid of Roxi, their brindle pit bull, but they’ve changed their mind.

“People might have mixed feelings about that,” she said. “I don’t want to get rid of her because that was Tyler’s dog.”

Wilhite doesn’t hate Edward Daniels, the neighbor whose dogs got loose and who’s been charged with manslaughter, but she hopes he gets a maximum sentence if he’s convicted. He’s scheduled for arraignment May 14.

“I don’t have much anger. I’ve never been a hateful person,” she said. “I’m mad at God, and I shouldn’t be because he gave [Tyler] to me for 7 years. … I do believe everything happens for a reason; I don’t understand the reason. I don’t like the reason.”

May 27 would’ve been Tyler’s eighth birthday. He almost certainly would’ve wanted a chocolate milkshake, and he might have wanted to play football in the mud or ride a four-wheeler like he used to until the time he ran his grandmother over. She was pretty bruised up, Wilhite recalled with a laugh.

“It’s not funny then, but it’s funny now,” she said.

Instead, on May 27, they’ll go to his grave and release balloons and drink chocolate milkshakes.

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